


Like a river flows (surely to the sea)

by littlesystems



Series: I just met you (and extras) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Eloping, First Dance, Fluff, M/M, Mark the photo guy, POV switch, Steve’s Harley, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesystems/pseuds/littlesystems
Summary: A series of vignettes following the events ofI just met you (and this is crazy).





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have their first dance as a married couple.

Steve and Bucky have been on the road for a little over an hour - an hour since the courthouse, since they said  _ I do _ and signed the papers - when Bucky taps on Steve's midsection to get his attention. He points at a brown sign on the side of the road indicating a park up ahead in three miles. Steve nods, but makes a mental note to talk to Tony about getting him a special helmet of his own - Steve's has a Jarvis-connected microphone, which makes communication much easier while riding. Bucky's helmet they picked up this morning isn't bad, though. There's something meditative about the growl of the engine and the miles of asphalt, with nothing to distract him from Bucky's arms around his waist. 

Steve probably could have gotten one of the Jarvis-helmets from Tony. He probably could have even gotten one from Tony without explaining why he wanted it. Instead, the two of them snuck out of the tower like misbehaving teenagers, with sweaty palms and furtive smiles. 

Steve knows that the other Avengers are going to tell him that he's crazy. They're probably not going to  _ care, _ not really, but they're going to say that he's crazy for getting into this so fast.

(Steve doesn't really care.)

Slowing down, Steve takes the exit, and they rumble down the small road into the deserted park. The cool mid-morning air has just enough of a bite to keep people away. That, or there are more popular parks nearby - Steve doesn't profess to know, he just appreciates the privacy. The road leads them to a gravel parking lot, with one lone brick building, and then a long expanse of fields and trees butting up to a river, dotted with picnic tables and the occasional piece of recreational equipment. 

Steve pulls into a parking space, puts down the kickstand, and pulls his helmet off.

"What's up? Do you need to use the bathroom?" 

Bucky scrabbles a hand through his hair, trying to undo the flattening effect of the helmet. 

"Nah," Bucky - Steve’s  _ husband _ \- says, hopping off of the bike. "C'mon." He tilts his head towards the treeline, not the building.

Humoring him, Steve secures their helmets to the bike, and then Bucky grabs his hand and pulls them through the park. 

The crunch of the gravel underfoot gives way to spongy grass, still damp from the morning dew. They weave their way around trees and sun-bleached picnic tables, with Bucky occasionally stopping to look around, assessing, only to tug at Steve's hand and pull him further and further into the landscape. When they reach a small clearing, Bucky stops. An old oak tree towers overhead, just barely green with emerging leaves, a lone table sits crookedly over bumpy roots, and the river gurgles lazily about ten feet away. 

"This is a good spot," Bucky says, nodding with approval.

"For what?" Steve asks, amused. He doesn't know Bucky well enough to intuit what he's planning, but they have an entire lifetime for Steve to learn. 

"We're married," Buky says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Married! It's been less than an hour and a half, but Steve can barely believe it. 

"We are," Steve replies, unable to contain his smile.

"And..." Bucky says, clicking around on his phone, "it's traditional for married couples to have a first dance. Kind of a big deal, in the wedding world. Your first dance is one of those things that are supposed to define your marriage, or whatever.” His tone is flippant, but Steve can tell that this actually matters to him.

There was no wedding, and the 'first dance' seems kind of unnecessary without a reception, but clearly this is important to Bucky, for whatever reason. And Steve is going to do whatever makes his new husband happy. 

"Full disclosure, I'm a terrible dancer."

Bucky grins. "Well then it's a good thing that there's no one around to see you. Just the two of us." He finds what he's looking for on his phone - a song, presumably - then drops it onto the picnic table and steps into Steve's personal space, taking his hand. The beginning notes of a song play tinnily from the phone. They sway together, gently, while Steve concentrates on not stepping on Bucky's feet. 

_ Wise men say only fools rush in _ _  
_ _ But I can't help falling in love with you _

As the singer croons soft and slow, Bucky leans against his chest and leads them into a gentle shuffle. 

"Is this... Elvis?" Steve recognizes the song, vaguely, though it doesn't really  _ sound _ like Elvis. 

Bucky looks up at him, which puts their faces distractingly close together.

"No. Elvis is an overrated hack that stole rock n' roll from the black community and pretended that he invented it." Steve laughs, surprised at the answer. "This is a cover."

"Right," Steve says, amused. 

"It's a good song though."

Steve hums in agreement. 

_ Like a river flows,  _ _ surely to the sea _ _  
_ _ Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be _

Bucky's other hand creeps up around his neck and pulls him down into a kiss. And yeah, Steve initially thought that the first dance thing was kind of silly, but it doesn't feel silly now. It feels huge and overwhelming and all-encompassing. When Bucky pulls away, he keeps his forehead tipped against Steve's.

"Take my hand," Bucky sings along, squeezing Steve's hand in his. "Take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you."

They sway to the music, Bucky murmuring along, until the song runs out - too soon. As much as Steve has never cared much for dancing, the experience is different now. With the right partner. He kisses Bucky in the echoing silence of the finished song, the stillness of the park only broken by birdsong and the rustling breeze.

The opening note rings out again, followed by the opening refrain.

"It's on repeat," Bucky says. "We can stay here as long as we want."

The second play melts into the third, then the fourth, the fifth. 

They stay until Steve hears the distant sound of gravel crunching in the parking lot, heralding another car, more people, prying eyes. Steve leads them through the trees, keeping them out of sight, until the group - two parents, three running (screaming) children - are tromping across the lawn in the opposite direction, and Steve and Bucky can run laughing through the parking lot to the anonymity of their helmets. 

“Come on hubby,” Bucky says, still laughing, but muffled behind the helmet’s visor. “Find us a nice B&B where we can get this honeymoon started.”

They hop back onto Steve’s Harley and hit the open road. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is, Mark being identified in that photo will throw a massive wrench in all of his carefully-laid plans. The thing is, if anyone finds out about this - about Mark being the guy in that photo - Mark will become "that guy that fucked Captain America" instead of the formidable defense lawyer he intends to be.

Mark wakes up the morning after with 238 new text messages to the semi-obnoxious group chat that he's a part of.

(Call Mark old-fashioned, but 13 people is _too many people_ to maintain a coherent conversation. The little moon next to the chat name is the only way he's managed to maintain his sanity.)

Mark yawns and stretches, and considers the idea of going to the gym, while he clicks on the message icon (mostly to make the 238 badge go away, but also to see what inspired his lazy friends to be up and talking before 10am on a Saturday). He scrolls up from the end of the conversation, past what looks like hundreds of exclamation points and four thousand party emojis, searching for the beginning of the thread.

The conversation started at 6:47 this morning. Early enough that the ones chatting were probably still awake from the night before, rather than up early on Saturday morning.

Kyle: _WHO. HAS. SEEN. THE. NEWS?!?!?!?!?!?_

Brian: _AHHHHHHHHHH I HAVE!!!!!!!!_

Ace: _ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONE OF US!_

The conversation continues with a bunch of exclamation points from three of them, the aforementioned party emojis, and, oddly, a dozen American flags. Mark skims the conversation, looking for the actual _content_ instead of just the reactions. He's about half a second away from putting his phone down and jumping in the shower, cursing his obnoxious and over-dramatic friends, when someone else apparently joined in.

David: _whaaaaat is everyone doing up this early?? what happened?? did i miss fun??_

Kyle: _GUESS WHO IS OUT OF THE CLOSET THIS VERY FINE MORNING????_

David: _uncle sam?_

Yeah, there were an _unnecessary number_ of flags in the group chat, what the hell.

Ace: _CAPTAIN AMERICA_

David: _no_

Ace: _YESSSSSS_

David: _no way_

Ace: _Someone snapped a pic of him leaving a gay bar with another guy_

David: _has he said anything?_

Kyle: _Nope, but check this out:_

The next text is a photo. It takes a second to load, a second for Mark to process what he's looking at, and then one more second of stunned disbelief before his heart trips into overdrive. That - that's the guy he left the bar with last night. And the other guy in the picture... that's him. Mark. Probably posted up to a thousand tabloid websites by now. And yeah, his face isn't visible, but Mark _knows_ his own body, even from behind. He spends enough time on his hair that he _definitely_ knows what the back of his head looks like. And if there's one photo, there's probably more. More, where Mark's face is visible.

With shaking hands, he carefully types his query into Google, and the two seconds the app takes to load has never felt longer. He finds the pictures - about 10 in total - and only lets out the breath he's been holding when he gets to the last one and realizes that his face has somehow not made it into _any_ of them. Captain America's face has only been captured in the one money shot that got posted in the group chat.

Mark puts his phone down and takes a few minutes to steady his breathing.

_Bullet dodged._

The group chat continues on, with new messages appearing every few seconds - but Mark focuses on counting down from ten, taking deep, soothing breaths.

The thing is, Mark wants to make partner by the time he's 35. He's on track, too - he's made himself an invaluable member of the legal team, schmoozed all the current partners, and was given glowing feedback on his last performance review. And the thing is, he's not really _out_ at work. He's not out at work, in fact, at all. All the partners... they're old, conservative men, and Mark doesn't know quite how they'll handle his little secret. But that's okay - Mark has a plan. Coming out will be made much, much easier by having the perfect long-term boyfriend, preferably a fiance. That way, he's not some scary unknown quantity, he's the Mark they know and respect, with an equally respectable plus-one.

(And yeah, Mark's last boyfriend broke up with him because Mark refused to bring him to the company Christmas party, said that Mark was ashamed of him and of their relationship. And it's not that Mark was _ashamed,_ per se, but Corey hadn't been _the one,_ hadn't been the perfect party guest, the perfect partner's partner. He was the sort of guy that Mark's boss would have reduced to a stereotype - not the kind of guy that Mark needed. Does that make Mark an asshole? Yes, according to Corey, but Mark isn't ashamed to say that he knows what he wants, and he's not too shy to get it.)

The thing is, Mark being identified in that photo will throw a massive wrench in all of his carefully-laid plans. The thing is, if _anyone_ finds out about this - about Mark being the guy in that photo - Mark will become "that guy that fucked Captain America" instead of the formidable defense lawyer he intends to be. The partners at his firm would find out about him in the worst, most embarrassing way possible. It would be hard for his law firm to take him seriously. It would be hard for people in the _courtroom_ to take him seriously, and Mark has worked too hard and for too long to throw that away on a one night stand gone wrong. And really, who expects to pick up _Captain America_ in a gay bar. Did he think he wouldn’t get _recognized??_

Mark fiddles with his phone while trying to decide what to do. Should he say anything in the group chat? Ignore it? He skims the rest of the responses, but they all look like they're lacking substance. Mostly just emojis and reaction gifs.

Ultimately, he carefully types out _wow, that's crazy,_ and then hits the gym.

 

 

In the coming days, Mark finds himself magnetized to the three-ring circus surrounding Captain America, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for more (worse) pictures to appear. Captain America officially comes out in a press conference on Monday. And to Mark's surprise and incredible good fortune, the tabloids have decided that the guy Captain America slept with must be that first kid JB Barnes, which seems kind of random to Mark, but hey, they must be grasping at desperate straws. The more they think that it's someone that Captain America has known for a long time (do they even know each other?), the less they'll go out looking for the real guy.

( _Me,_ he thinks, somewhat hysterically. _I'm the one that slept with Captain America._ )

There are surely tabloids out there that would pay a metric shit-pile of money for Mark’s story - but nowhere near to as much money as he intends to be making once he’s a partner, so. And the weirdest thing about the whole "story" is that there isn't much of a story to tell. The sex was fine - pretty average, for a hookup. The pickup was flirtatious and easy, leaving the bar was quick, the sex was as good as Mark would expect from some random guy at the bar, and then they parted ways. There's nothing really to _say._ Not that Mark plans to say anything to anyone. Even if he told one or two friends, there's no guarantee that they wouldn't tell _their_ friends, and then people who have no business being up in Mark's business would be sniffing around for the story that Mark doesn't even really have.

Mark probably won't take the story to the grave - he has to tell _someone, sometime_ \- but it's probably going to be a story reserved for Mark's Perfect Partner™, once they're already engaged, maybe even after they’re married.

(Though Mark will admit, every time he sees Captain America on television or talking heads bloviating about the state of American imperialism or whatever they have up their ass about gay people, he entertains the thought of telling someone. Not that he would, not that he’s going to, but. It would be funny. Just imagining dropping that bombshell into the group chat and the ensuing chaos and screeching jealousy gets him through four insufferable client meetings at work. He imagines being on a date, like: _what was my weirdest hookup? Oh, it would have to be that time I slept with Captain America, how about you?_ He has to entertain himself, has to look on the bright side of the whole thing, or else he’ll just have one unending panic attack until the story blows over.)

When the news about Jacob Hannover breaks, Mark is equal parts amused and annoyed. At first he assumes that the guy is talking about a different night. Once he realizes that the guy is claiming to be the other man in the photo, Mark rolls his eyes so hard he's afraid he's sprained something. Please. _Puh-lease._ The guy looks like he goes to the gym once a week, max, and spends _way_ too much time coiffing his hair in the morning.

When JB rolls out of Stark Tower, wearing Captain America's hoodie, hair mussed, _covered_ in hickies, Mark is mostly just confused. He assumed the JB thing was just a story. It had to be, right? But then Captain America is giving JB this sheepish little smile and they're walking off camera, arm-in-arm.

_What the actual fuck?_

That story has Mark running in circles for a little while. _Are_ they together? Have they _been_ together? Mark has never knowingly been party to infidelity, and he finds that the idea really doesn't sit right with him. At all. Like, he’s sure it’s probably happened, but he’s never personally known about it. But… JB would have to _know._ It's not like he could possibly _not_ know that he's not the guy in the photo.

Maybe they have an open relationship?

No, that seems unlikely.

The only thing that Mark can settle on is that it has to be a publicity stunt.

Then a bunch of weirdos release their bizarro stories onto the internet, and the whole thing fades out of the limelight.

 

 

Two months go by in relative quiet, when Mark finds himself on a second date with this guy named Jon. They're in this 'authentic' ramen shop in the East Village that Mark hates on sight.

(And really, 'authentic' just means that its tiny and crowded and they never take credit, which drives Mark crazy, because who even carries cash nowadays? Elderly people? The homeless? The _homeless elderly?_ Mark had planned on picking up the tab, but now he's the schmuck that's freeloading, but in his defense, he didn't pick this place, and Jon could have warned him.)

"Are you still pouting about the cash policy?” Jon asks. They’re ass-to-elbow with the table next to them (and behind them, and across from them) and Mark is trying his best not to complain about any of it.

“It’s just ridiculous that they don’t take credit.”

Jon throws his head back and laughs, showing off his pearly-white teeth and crinkling his pretty brown eyes, and then props his chin on his hand, looking at Mark with an amused expression.

“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

Jon’s not the first guy to tell Mark that - not the third, or the tenth - but he _is_ the first to say it fondly.

“I just usually eat at places more…”

Mark isn’t sure how to say ‘upscale’ without insulting his date.

“Boring? White? Do you secretly hate flavor? It’s okay, you can admit it.”

Okay, Mark is kind of a snob. _Whatever._ There are way worse things to be in this world.

“I like this place! It’s great! I’m happy to be here, _and_ I’m happy to be here with you.”

One of those statements is true, at least. Jon is in the middle of his surgical residency, a Columbia alum, and currently applying to Neuro fellowships. So Mark’s not about to blow this date over a stupid credit card debacle.

“Anyway, I just -” out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees the TV flash with an all-too-familiar name. “Huh.”

“What?” Jon cranes around to look at what has Mark distracted.

“Apparently Captain America got married to that guy,” Mark says, wondering if that, too, is a publicity stunt.

If _any_ of it was ever a publicity stunt.

“Crazy. So what do you think the real story is?” Jon asks. It’s an innocuous question, but it freezes Mark up all the same.

“Oh… uhh… I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it? They were supposedly dating for years, I think.” That _is_ what the tabloids said, even though it doesn’t make a lick of sense. _You’re a defense lawyer, for christ’s sake, you lie for a living,_ he thinks to himself, _get it together!_

Jon just rolls his eyes. “Yeah but you don’t go and pick up your own _boyfriend_ at a bar. I think they met that night, hooked up, and then just stuck with it once the story hit the news.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Mark says, nodding, nonchalant.

Jon twists around to get another look at the TV. “But maybe I’m wrong,” he says once he’s turned back around, because it’s too damn loud in this place to hear him otherwise. “It says that they announced that they _are_ married. Not that they’re getting married, or that they just _got_ married. That means it probably happened a while ago.”

“That would mean that they got married after knowing each other for like… a couple of weeks,” Mark says, wondering what the _hell_ is going on.

Jon just shrugs. “So maybe the tabloids were right, and they’ve been secretly dating for years.”

“Ready to order?” the waitress says, appearing from nowhere, saving Mark from having to reply.  They place their orders, Mark steers the conversation to Jon’s recent difficult case, and he doesn’t look at the TV for the rest of their date.

 

 

Five months, many dates, and one official declaration of exclusivity later, Mark takes Jon to the Winter Village at Bryant Park. Which is to say that Jon insists on going because he wants to support local artisans, and Mark has learned by now to follow Jon around holding his hand and nodding along. It's a good system.

"Have you gotten anything for your mother yet?" Jon asks, half-buried in a rack of hand-knitted scarves. Jon is very solicitous of Mark's mother - they met one time, and Jon seems to think that her opinion matters more than anyone else's. More than _Mark's,_ even though he's the one dating him.

"I usually just buy her some nice bath stuff and call it a day."

"Mark!" Jon's head pops out from behind the scarf rack, aghast. Scandalized. "She is your _mother._ You can't buy her some crap from Bath & Body Works."

"I didn't say I got it from _there,_ please give me _some_ credit." Mark buys a tasteful gift basket from a specialty store a few blocks from his apartment.

Jon rolls his eyes. "I will not go home with you for Christmas to watch you give your mother bubble bath. You're not seven. You're an adult, and you need to buy your mother an adult gift. What does she like?"

If Mark had better gift ideas, he would be utilizing them.

"Look around!" Jon says, taking Mark's silence as an answer. "There are dozens of vendors here. Does she like jewelry? Kitchenware? Art? Christmas ornaments? You have no excuse."

Mark does look around. His mother doesn't wear scarves, so this shop is of no use to him. The next booth has kitschy art that his mother would hate, the one after that has crazy-cat-lady merchandise, but that olive wood shop across the way could be promising...

He's so busy considering whether or not his mother would use an olive wood salad bowl that he almost overlooks the enormous blond strolling down the path. _Almost._ Instead, he does a double take, and manages to make semi-accidental eye contact with Captain-fucking-America. The first time they've seen each other since _the incident._ Since the night that almost ended Mark's career. And going by the stunned look on Captain America's face, he does, in fact, recognize Mark. Shit.

There's a familiar brunet tucked under Captain America's arm.

"There are some cool bowls across the way," Mark says after his too-long pause, hoping his voice doesn't sound as strangled as it feels. Hoping Jon doesn’t notice his wide-eyed panic.

"Then you should probably go look at them."

"I..." Mark looks back, but Captain America and JB Barnes are gone. Thank god. "...will. Do you think you'll be here for a while?"

"Yeah, if I finish here before you're back I'll come find you."

So Mark sets out, crossing the sea of people, into the packed olive wood booth. Who knew olive wood was so popular? Mark elbows two people on accident and one on purpose, trying to get to the corner that the bowls are in, and nearly tramples a tiny Italian grandmother.

Overall, not the most graceful five minutes of his life.

Mark has been standing in front of the bowls for about thirty seconds before someone starts hovering at his elbow, but he stands his damn ground. He _worked_ to get over here, and this dude can wait two minutes for Mark to make a decision. Is one bowl enough, or should he get a set? Four? Four seems like a good number.

"Hey."

Mark glances over, ready to tell this guy to fuck off, and - yeah, okay, that is definitely JB Barnes. He has his hood pulled up so that he's a featureless blob from behind, but he's looking straight at Mark and yeah, this is happening.

"Hi," Mark says, reaching up to grab one of the bowls, and making a show of looking it over.

"You're Mark."

"Sure am."

There are enough people talking around them that the sound of their conversation is swallowed by the crowd.

"Listen," Mark says, already 100% done with this conversation that hasn't even happened yet. "I'm not gonna say anything to anyone, if that's what you're here about. If I was going to, I'd've done it already. I'm a lawyer, my job is important to me, and if I get my fifteen minutes of fame, I want it to be from an incredible case I'm working on, not from something tawdry."

Barnes snorts. "Noted."

"He, uhh." Mark declines to say any kind of name. "He doesn't seem like the type to cheat." That's the one thing that's been bothering him, the whole time. There's something particularly distasteful about the idea of being Captain America's mistress.

"He's not," Barnes says.

Okay - so that means that they weren't seeing each other, or weren't exclusive at the time. That's all Mark needs to know.

"Cool. Anything else?"

"Nope," Barnes says. "Have a nice life."

"You too."

Barnes disappears into the crowd, Mark buys four of those stupid bowls, and he goes back to Jon, at the register of the other booth, laden with scarves.

 

 

Two years, three company parties, and one engagement later, Jon says, "tell me a secret. Something that nobody knows about you."

Mark doesn't even have to hesitate.

"I had sex with Captain America."

Jon blinks.

_"What?!?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Mark's terrible opinions are his, and do not reflect my own.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just write a songfic in 2019? You bet your ass I did! The song they’re listening to is Can’t Help Falling in Love, specifically the cover by Fleet Foxes. 
> 
> I have a few other scenes in mind for this verse, so stay tuned.


End file.
